


in your arms, my darling, the world fades to black

by rosebud_writer



Series: the small moments of peace we find [2]
Category: Secret History - Donna Tartt
Genre: Crying, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, POV Richard Papen, Panic Attacks, Polyamory, Post-Canon, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Sad and Sweet, disaster bi Richard Papen, soft squad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:13:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22682269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosebud_writer/pseuds/rosebud_writer
Summary: Francis stopped dead in his tracks as we approached the front, I waited for him to reach for his keys to unlock the door, but instead he turned to face me, the color from our laughter drained from his cheeks.“Oh my god, did we tell Camilla our plans for today?”~an exploration of my thoughts on Camilla's trauma and PTSD~AU post canon, where Francis, Camilla, and Richard learn to live and love again, together.
Relationships: Camilla Macaulay/Richard Papen, Francis Abernathy & Camilla Macaulay, Francis Abernathy/Richard Papen
Series: the small moments of peace we find [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1635175
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	in your arms, my darling, the world fades to black

**Author's Note:**

> tw for slight mention of suicide and general trauma.

That shadow my likeness that goes to and fro seeking a livelihood, chattering, chaffering,  
How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it flits,  
How often I question and doubt whether that is really me,  
But among my lovers and caroling these songs,  
O I never doubt whether that is really me

That Shadow My Likeness, Walt Whitman

~

We should have taken Francis' car, but the late spring air intoxicated our minds with its sweetness, urging us to relish in its splendor. I resisted the childish urge to swing our joined hands, instead taking it upon myself to admire the feel of his soft skin on my own. 

The apartment windows were dark as we approached, which stirred a strange feeling in me, as it had always seemed to be filled with light. Francis stopped dead in his tracks as we approached the front, I waited for him to reach for his keys to unlock the door, but instead he turned to face me, the color from our laughter drained from his cheeks. 

“Oh my god, did we tell Camilla our plans for today?”

I tried to remember if we had mentioned our plan to Camilla the night previous or even before the day had begun. Francis and I had decided to play hooky and spent the day wandering, enjoying the simplicity of one another’s company, as spring break was rapidly approaching and Francis was due to leave on an elaborate trip with his mother. 

“I don’t think we did, but it’s not that big of a deal, right?”

Rather than responding, Francis hurriedly searched for his keys, flinging the door open as soon as it unlocked. The interior was pitch black, my stomach dropped. Camilla should be home by now, she had nowhere else to go. We stood in the entryway, Francis obviously panicking as I confusedly waited for an explanation. 

“Camilla?” Francis called into the dark, voice quivering. We waited for several tense moments without any response from her, “I’m checking her room, check the bathroom.” 

My own panic began to fester as we searched, with only the sounds of Francis’ footsteps and my rapidly increasing heartbeat echoing in the night. Both the bathroom and kitchen were empty, I was about to investigate the patio when his voice nearly made me jump out of my skin. 

“She’s in here!” I ran to the sound of Francis’ voice, which sounded as if it came from my room. 

I practically burst into the room, nearly denting my wall in the process, looking wildly around the room for the two people I actually needed in my life. Francis sat on the edge of the bed, bending over a curled pile of blankets that must be Camilla.

Kneeling on the other side of the bed, my hands found their way to her, searching for her face, a hand- something, “Camilla?” I asked softly, “Honey, can you talk to us?”  
I heard her take a shuddering breath before slowly sitting up, still cocooned in what I now realized was Francis’ velvet blanket. Though she wasn’t crying, the dried tear tracks and red eyes were more than obvious. Moving from my spot on the floor, I sat by her side, Francis also moved in closer. I tried to catch his eye, hoping to find some sort of explanation, but he was fixated on her face, holding one of her hands tightly in his own. 

“Cam?” Francis said gently, and though Camilla made no acknowledgment of him, he continued, “Richard and I just went out today, played hooky. Saw a bad movie, ate at a horrible restaurant. I’m so sorry I forgot to tell you, it was just a spur of the moment thing, we’re okay. We’re perfectly okay.”

Was she jealous? I wanted to laugh, though it would likely be the end of me in this highly dramatic situation. Francis, who must have sensed my conclusion, shot me a seething look as Camilla burst into a fit of tears, snatching her hand away from him. 

“No! Please don’t” She sobbed into her hands, “They said they were okay too, but they weren’t. They’re dead.” 

Oh. Oh god. My humor melted quickly and shamefully as realization struck me. Camilla’s parents. Everything Francis had done, his panic and concern coming from a painfully obvious reason, I had just been too stupid, too caught up in my own joys to even think. I prayed Camilla would forgive me for thinking so lowly of her. 

I timidly placed my hand on her back, slowly rubbing circles in a futile attempt for calm, “We’re right here, Camilla.”

“You’re not real-you’re not my Richard.”

“Shh, of course I am.” 

She shook her head, though her blanket loosened, and I realized the shirt she wore was mine. A ragged old T-shirt that I only wore to bed, my heart hurt. Poor Camilla, she must be so terrified. 

“Would you like a cup of tea, Camilla?” Francis said, though I doubt he expected an answer out of her, as he was already beginning to get up. 

“With honey?” her voice was barely audible, mumbled from under his blanket, which she had pulled tightly around herself once again. 

“Of course,” he agreed, “you always use too much.” 

As he left the room, I took the opportunity to extend my legs, which had gone numb from their strange position.. Gradually, I inched my way closer to Camilla, unsure if she would let me touch her again. I didn’t have to worry much, as she found her own way into my arms, content to surrender to their shelter.

“I don’t want you to be dead,” she mumbled into my chest, I held her tightly, mind racing fruitlessly as I tried to find a way to show her I was here, words seemed to be useless. We sat listening to Francis move about the kitchen. I, listening to Camilla’s breathing, thoughtlessly running my fingertips about her skin. 

“Camilla, I need you to look at me,” I said, struck with sudden inspiration. When her face stayed rested against my chest, eyes unseeing, my fingers lightly brushed her chin, leading her gaze to meet mine. “If I weren’t here,” I took her delicate hand in mine, placing them over the space where my heart still beat, “would you be able to feel this?”

I watched her face, still holding her hand tightly to me. Camilla bit her lip, eyes filling with tears. 

“Oh, Richard,” she sobbed, pressing her face back into me. Francis chose this moment to walk back in, tea cup and a water glass in hand. He frowned at the sight of Camilla weeping in my arms, I only shrugged in response. 

This bought of tears ended quickly and Francis pushed the cup of tea into her hands, insisting she drink it all. Not that I disagreed, Camilla surely had neglected any sort of sustenance, as she was prone to do while highly stressed. She sat in my lap as she took tiny sips of tea, Francis squeezing her hand. Eventually she finished enough for his satisfaction, and he took the cup out of her shaky hands. Camilla looked up at me, eyes unfocused. She was exhausted, though I doubt she would want to sleep, in fear we would disappear. 

“Would you like me to stay?”

She nodded. I turned to Francis, who smiled warmly at the both of us.

“Hold her for me? I need to change out of this shirt.”

“My pleasure, anything for our lady” he said, holding his arms open for her. I changed quickly as Francis held her, soothingly stroking her hair in a rhythmic pattern. Camilla was nearly asleep when I slipped back by her side.  
“Francis,” she sighed as he laid her gently under the covers, “stay?” her voice was already slurred from sleep.

He caught her wandering hand, pressing a light kiss to her knuckles, “Of course, my dear.” 

Somehow, the three of us fit on my bed, although it wasn’t the most convenient arrangement, I knew both Francis and I would go to the ends of the earth for her. 

She was the first to succumb to sleep’s invitation, though I kept her in my arms in my own vain way to fight off the threat of a nightmare. 

“Has this happened before?” I asked Francis in a low voice. His eyes had a faraway look as he stared at Camilla, carefully tucking some hair away that had fallen onto her face.

“Once,” He whispered, “it was just me.. I forgot to call one night. I was worried she..”

He didn’t have to finish for me to understand. I looked down at the sleeping girl in my arms, her pale skin almost glowing in the moonlight, I pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. 

“Let’s get some sleep, Richard.” Francis’ voice broke my trance, “It’s been a long day.”

I couldn’t have agreed more, I reached out my free hand and he took it, the familiarity of his grip reassured me. Closing my eyes, holding each of them tightly, I let sleep’s song wash over me, as well.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!  
> I've finally come back from the dead, expect more very soft content like this from me soon. I'm obsessed with Secret History, its truly a beautiful book and I had to write something for it.  
> hope you enjoyed!
> 
> <3, ya girl, rose


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